


Lady of the Danes

by Space_Samurai



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Aethelred is His Own Warning, Captivity, F/M, Pregnancy, Protectiveness, Reunions, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 01:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21402136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Samurai/pseuds/Space_Samurai
Summary: Aethelred is captured by the Danes and gains himself an audience with their lady, who's none other than his abducted-wife.
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Erik Thurgilson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 155





	Lady of the Danes

**Author's Note:**

> I swear that I'm working on SB, but I'm currently going through a writer's block with that fic. So here you have a little treat for the waiting <3
> 
> Also, Aethelred is his own warning. Some threats are made against a pregnant woman and Erik scares the shit out of Aethelred. Aethelred really has a bad time in this fic and he deserves it. 
> 
> If you'd like to go to the bits of fluff, go to the end :)

He has been captured by savages, who saw fit to strip him of his silky clothes and parade him around naked for everyone to see. It’s a humiliation of the worst kind, and it makes his cheeks burn with anger and indignation.

Aethelred behaves, however. These are the same barbarians that had stolen his wife a year ago. That foolish, infuriating Wessex girl who just didn’t knew when to be quiet and obey. Aethelred couldn’t say he missed her, but her abduction made it hard for him to go forward with his claims to the Wessex throne, and her father was also making it hard for him to find a new wife.

Her body had never been found and the Thurgilsons had never asked for ransom, it was safe to assume that she was still with them, being humped by every man on Beamfleot. The bonds of marriage tied them until death parted them, so the church refused to dissolve the marriage, in fear of Alfred’s retaliation.

Since he couldn’t get a wife, he couldn’t get a legitimate heir, as Aethelflaed had failed her wifely duties in giving him one. Without an heir, the seat of Mercia would pass to one of his cousins, who certainly were already plotting to have him killed.

Well, Aethelred had eased the things for them by getting captured. He could only hope that the treacherous, greedy lords would pay any coin that the brothers demanded. Else, his neck would meet the axe.

They arrive to Beamfleot when the sun is going down. Aethelred is received with jests and leers from the warriors, and it becomes hard to keep his head up. He’ll return with an army once he gets back to Mercia and burn every hall and house to ashes.

He had been to Beamfleot once before and the place had radically changed ever since. It had grown three times its size, with less tents and more stone houses. There were not only warriors around, women and children now walked through the streets as well. It was less of a war-camp and more of a blooming city.

They don’t put him in a cell, but in a pigpen, tying his hands around a post and then leaving him with his new pink, filthy companions. Aethelred silently prayed that Alfred wouldn’t send Uhtred as part of the rescue party. He begrudgingly recognized that the man had skill when it came to war, but Aethelred would rather die than being seen by the heathen in this situation.

Night falls along with the temperature, it’s the middle of summer, but Aethelred is freezing. A Dane comes by to tell him that their lady is coming to see him. Aethelred assumes he means a slave or a serving wench. Good timing, he’s starving.

There are more than a few torches around, they provide good lighting and do nothing to warm him, and he spots a womanly figure walking towards the pigpen.

He doesn’t recognize her at first sight.

She looks different. Her hair is longer, twisted in braids behind her back. She’s dressed as one of the Danes, which allows him to see how her figure has filled. One of the things that had bothered him about her was how she had seemed to wither after their wedding; growing thinner and paler. There’s a healthy glow to her now, and it crosses his mind that a prisoner shouldn’t look this well.

She doesn’t like being gawked at by him, a hand curls protectively around her middle and her gaze narrows as she looks down at him.

Aethelred squints his eyes at the gesture, and he realizes: it’s not only that she’s filled out, there’s a soft curve in her belly. Rage floods him, she’s carrying the bastard of some Dane!

“Whore,” he spits at her. “You let one of these barbarians fuck a child into your belly. Tell me, did they took turns with you?” He smiled cruelly. “Did you enjoy it when they forced you?”

"Such a long time and you've changed nothing." She didn’t flinch at his words, but her eyes grew dark. “You are the only man who has ever forced me.” She said with an even voice. “The Danes treated me better than you ever did.”

“And you’ve certainly rewarded them.”

“There’s no them, just my husband.” She says calmly and Aethelred feels the blood rushing to his ears.

“I am your husband!” Though the title brought him no pride in her current state. “What do you think is going to happen when this place burns down?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll rip your whelp from your belly and throw it to the fire. And you’ll spend the rest of your days in a nunnery for being a disloyal whore.”

“I’ll have your head before you get anywhere near them.” She hisses, finally showing some emotion. “Besides, you are in no position to make any threats.” Her hand moved to the handle of a sword that hanged from her belt, a warning if there was ever one.

Aethelred paled, realizing she was right. “You will get no coin if you kill me.” He threatened.

His blood ran cold when a smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “Who said we wanted coin from you?”

His tied hands became fists and he futilely pulled from his bonds. Aethelflaed looked down at him, a faint shade of amusement on her eyes. It made sense, he realized with dread, that she’d want her revenge. He knew he wouldn’t live to see the end of the next day; he was going to die in a filthy pigpen at the hands of his wife.

“Who is your husband?” He inquired, surely, the man would reason with him. No matter how mad he’d be about Aethelred having bedded her first, he’d see the benefit of asking for ransom.

“You have met him already,” at his confusion, she clarified. “When you negotiated for Lunden.”

“One-Handed Sigefrid?” He asked in disbelief. Of all the savages she could be consorting with, Sigefrid was the last one he'd think of.

Aethelflaed frowned.

“Erik Thurgilson.” The one who had asked for his wife as a prize.

“I wish to speak with him,” he commanded, though it was a request more than anything.

“Are you certain that’s wise?” She raised an eyebrow at him, fully at ease once more. Her free hand absently rubbed her belly. Aethelred had to bite his tongue to keep himself from lashing out. It was almost insulting.

"A man would certainly see the benefit of keeping me well and alive, which you don't do." Even a savage was still a man, and there wasn't a man that couldn't be bought by coin.

"Very well, I shall call for him."

* * *

Erik was rushing through the corridors of the hall. _Gods be damned Aethelflaed_, he thought wildly. Her pig of a former husband had been captured and Erik had been hoping to be the one to tell her, so they could discuss what to do with him. But of course, nothing ever escaped her, as she had ears all around Beamfleot. When Erik returned from bathing, as she probably wouldn't have welcomed him dressed in dirt and blood, and asked for her whereabouts, Dagfinn had told him she was chatting with the prisoner.

She should be resting in a pile of pillows, not meeting alone with the turd who had mistreated her. Ever since the healer had told them she was with child, Erik had wanted her as far from danger as possible. She had opposed to staying on their shared quarters all day, laying on her back. She had asked if Dane women were expected to do so, Erik had told her that they were not. And that had been the end of it.

The servants and the warriors alike turned to look at him as he hurriedly made his way to the yard. They had locked the bastard in a pigpen on Siegfried's orders. It would have made him laugh if he weren't so tense. Aethelflaed wasn't supposed to be meeting with him!

Before he can get through the doors that lead to the yard, he stumbles upon none other than his wife. He has to dig his heels on the ground so he won't fall over her.

He opens his mouth, ready to inquire about her reunion, but she throws her arms around him before any words can leave his mouth. Her swollen belly presses against his, and his heart flutters at the feeling of his child moving.

Erik has no sons or daughters, his seed had never taken root on the few women he had lain with before Aethelflaed. This is his first, and hopefully not his last.

"You came back," she whispers on his ear. "I'm sorry I couldn't greet you, I didn't find you amongst the men."

Erik buried his nose in her braids. She had rubbed scented oils on them, he could smell it. Pleasant and subtle, it fit her well.

"I stopped by the river before coming here," he explained. "Didn't think you'd like me coming to bed all dirty and smelling like a pig." He pointed out. "Speaking of pigs…"

She flinched. "He wishes to speak with you."

"_What_?"

"He believes you'll set him free for your share of coin." She explained calmly.

"He is wrong. I'll cut his head off and feed it to the pigs before he can—"

"_Erik_."

He took a deep breath. "Do not ask me to let him go."

"I wouldn't dare." She replied, laying her head on his chest. It was rather awkward, with her belly between them. "But I'd like you to talk with him."

"Why?"

"He is under the impression that you're a mindless heathen who only wishes to hump me. You'd be quick to prove him wrong." Erik shook against her. "He also seems to think he's still my husband."

"While you carry my child?"

"Christian marriages aren't so easy to break, I can't just say that I no longer want him and be done with him. If only it were that easy." She sighed. "He can't kill me because of who my father is, but he could… Do worse."

"What could be worse than ending your life?" He asked. His fingers drew a pattern in the small of her back, to calm himself.

She swallowed. "He threatened to throw our child into the fire and send me off to a nunnery. So he could remarry, I believe."

Erik went very still.

* * *

Erik Thurgilson makes an imposing presence. Aethelred recalled little of him from their last meeting, other than the man had made a fool of him and stolen his wife. And now, his men had captured him and humiliated him and _he_ had impregnated his wife. But since the man holds an axe and wears a grim expression, Aethelred keeps himself from reprimanding him.

He is a warrior in every sense, from his gigantic form to his scarred face. And he’s dressed in furs that only accent his size, which make Aethelred even more naked than he already is. He wishes someone would come to untie him so he could relieve himself, there’s only so much humiliation he can take.

“I’ve been told you wished to speak with me.” Before Aethelred could voice his reasons, the man spoke once more. “It’s not often that prisoners make demands from their captors. Do _you _think you are in a position to make demands?”

“No.” He answered, swallowing any other words he might wish to spit. “I thought you might want to negotiate the terms of my liberation.” He doesn’t stutter, which is good.

The Dane looks down at him, much like Aethelflaed had done before, as if he were an annoying pest he would like to crush with his boot. “Fine then, speak.”

Aethelred’s mouth dried. He wasn’t supposed to be the one making an offer! “Mercia is not a land of wealth—“

“Then why not kill you now?”

He almost choked on his tongue. “But a fair price can certainly be arranged!” He hurried. “My men will soon send a negotiation party.”

“And they shall meet my prize?”

“Of course.” He could only hope.

Erik Thurgilson nodded. “I want Mercia.”

His blood ran cold. “The land?” Aethelred lost his composure. “You are mad if you think I’ll hand over the seat to some savage!” He realized his mistake too late.

The steel kissed his cheek and a warm stream of blood ran through his face. “Some of my men said you’re the prettiest bastard they’ve ever seen. I think you look like a pig’s arse.” A grunt escaped the bound man. So there were also degenerates amongst his people.

“You won’t see any gold if I die,” he warned, grasping at straws.

“Maybe I will, some lords might pay better for your head than for you whole.” He commented lightly. “My brother will kill them too, and we’ll make ourselves the kings of Mercia. Then my children will rule after me.”

Aethelred saw it then, the way his eyes had shifted when he spoke of his children. _Of course_ Aethelflaed had spread herself for the one barbarian that cared for his bastards. It was clever of her, he could recognize that.

“Your children,” Aethelred began. “My—my wife is carrying one of them. You can keep it, you can keep her.” If the Dane wanted children by her, he could have them. The more he thought about it, Aethelred became more convinced that he was better off without her. Better yet, once he got rescued, he could just tell everyone she had died in Beamfleot. Who would question a grieving husband?

“_Keep _her?”

“Yes,” he nodded the best he could with an axe on his face. “I—I can remarry another lady and—“

“You say you want me to keep _my _child and _my _wife, but she has told me you wished to cast a babe into the fire and send her away to die in reclusion.”

That _stupid _girl. Could it be possible that this Dane cared for her beyond being a bed warmer and a child-bearer? If so, then his breaths were counted, for if she had told him of their recent conversation, she had _certainly_ told him about the days of their early marriage.

He pulled violently from his bonds, fear clawing at his neck.

“She doesn’t wish death upon you, unlike me. Know this, _Lord of Mercia_, were it up to me, I’d hang you by the balls in my hall and let the pigs come inside to chew on your face.” Aethelred flinched back. “I might not kill you now, but I promise you, if you try to escape I'll have no mercy."

* * *

When he arrived to his quarters, Erik’s wife was already sitting on the bed, untangling her hair with a comb. She was wearing one of her lighter shifts, as the summer nights inside the castle could get quite warm. He took his boots off and left them by the door.

“Does he live?” She inquired quietly.

“He does.” And they spoke no more of the subject.

She hadn’t been able to sleep comfortably for the last few nights, as her middle grew thicker and heavier. Erik liked to press his palms over it as she slept on her side, so he could feel their moving. It was a shame that it took away her sleep, as it made his heart beat faster when it happened.

“How are them?” He asked, nuzzling her neck. Aethelflaed set the comb aside.

“Alive and moving, apparently he enjoys making his mother suffering.” He laughed in her hair.

“_Him_? You are so certain it’s a son.” He teased.

“Wouldn’t you like a son?” Every man seemed to want one.

“I’d like a daughter, pretty and with a good mind. Just like you.” He had dreamed of her, a little girl with her eyes and his blond hair. “If you want a son, we could have one after this one.”

“So easy to say when you are not carrying them,” she scolded, but there was a smile in her lips. She yawned and looked at him through half-closed eyes. “Your daughter makes me tired.”

“_My daughter_,” he repeated giddily and Aethelflaed huffed a laugh.

“Let’s sleep.” She commanded and Erik was quick to obey.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
